Revelations
by HedgieX
Summary: Harry meets an out-of-sorts Ruth at her request, and quickly establishes that something is seriously wrong. As he coaxes her into confessing her fears, will he be able to accept the terrible truth and support her in her wishes, or will they fall divided?
1. Chapter 1

Ruth leapt from the bus, stumbling straight into a pile of soggy brown leaves. As she struggled up, she felt her ankle give way beneath her, and a searing pain course through her entire leg. Fumbling in her bag, she drew out her umbrella, but the lock was jammed, and the rain had already soaked her through clothes anyway. She limped along the pavement, her hair sticking to her face as she made her way blindly towards the meeting point.

Today_ really_ was not her day. Anything that could possibly have gone wrong already had – she was actually surprised she hadn't been kidnapped, or mowed down by a car. Then again, there was still time.

Reaching the bench, she sank down, feeling the rainwater soak up through the rim of her coat and freeze the only part of her body that wasn't already drenched. Tears suddenly pricked at her eyelids; subconscious tears, almost, droplets of salty liquid she couldn't control. She wasn't generally one for self-pity, or indeed any personal emotion; she tended to keep her innermost feelings locked away inside. But sometimes, there came a point where you just couldn't keep pretending.

"You wanted to talk?" a familiar voice asserted from beside her. She felt the bench rock slightly as Harry settled himself down, sensed his gaze locked onto her hidden expression. "Ruth?"

She sensed a brusque nature to his tone. She supposed that was only to be expected, really; she'd broken his heart by rejecting his proposal, and now she was messing him around. Why had she even asked him to come? What did it have to do with him now? "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"For what?" he automatically softened at the sorrow in her apology. He couldn't bear to see her in pain. "What've you got to be sorry for?"

"I don't know. Everything." she mumbled helplessly, "Joining MI5. Leaving. Hurting you. Asking you to come here."

"From my perspective, none of those things are bad. _Accidunt omnia propter quoddam propositum_, Ruth."

"Do they?"

He shuffled a little closer, peering at her uneasily, "What's happened? What did you want to talk to me about?"

"You know…you know when you asked me if I'd marry you?" she sniffed, struggling to compose herself, "And I said I couldn't, because of everything you'd done – all the choices you'd made?"

"I have to admit it isn't a moment I'm likely to forget."

"That we couldn't be more together than we were right then?"

"Yes," Harry's forehead crinkled as he frowned, clearly bemused, "What's this about, Ruth?"

"I…I…" she trailed off wearily.

For a long beat, they sat in silence, gazing out over the darkening city as raindrops hammered down on them. Cars revved, clocks chimed, people chattered… London never slept. That kind of assurance - that their city would be there whenever they needed it, no matter what the time - was somewhat comforting.

"Shall we walk?" Harry indicated along the road, "I know a cosy little café we could dry off in while you tell me what's happened; you're not going back like this."

Ruth nodded, but as she stood her ankle buckled beneath her, and she leant forward onto Harry for support. He gave a small, wry smile and wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her along towards the flickering lights of the tea-shop.

Maybe he was taking advantage of her weakness. But she didn't struggle; in fact, she appeared to nestle her head into his shoulder as they strolled along. He wasn't going to protest.

Settling themselves down in the dry, Ruth's shivering ceased, and she mopped discreetly at her eyes as Harry ordered two coffees. There was one man sipping tea across the room, and another having fallen asleep on his newspaper, his head lolling slightly. Gentle music played from a speaker in the far corner, the drinks machine whirring distantly at the waitress's demand. It was quiet; serene. Ruth supposed Harry had spent many a night in here - everyone had somewhere they hid when it all got too much.

"It's not a crime to fall in love, is it?" Ruth eventually whispered.

"I should hope not, or I'm damned," Harry replied, "But maybe I already was."

Her lips twitched in a feeble attempt at a smile, "Me too."

"So, Ruth," he spoke tenderly, but his eyes shone with both concern and regret, "As I hardly imagine you've changed your mind, why does my proposal concern you any more? I equally suppose you remember my saying _we move on from this_?"

"Yes," she agreed, equally soft, "And I'm not saying I should've said yes. But I was wrong, to blame you. It wasn't your fault; everyone makes mistakes. I…I was just confused - Ros's death shook me. I needed someone to accuse, for everything I felt was wrong."

"I'm sorry about George, and Nico. That your happiness in Cyprus was ruined," Harry confessed, his eyes averted from her gaze. Not often did she get such an open apology from him, so sincere. He'd never before used their names, either. She'd presumed he just didn't know them. "And here…I'm sorry for everything, really. Truly sorry."

"Yes. Me too."

"Ruth?" he didn't miss the new tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill out over her pale cheeks. They sat opposite each other, at the table; was that deliberate? He reached an upturned hand out towards her, and she lowered hers from where it lay fiddling with her necklace, so that their fingers just touched.

"Thank you," was all she whispered to the waitress as the drinks were placed down in front of them. She received a puzzled glance as to her emotion, but nothing more. Questions weren't asked here.

"Ruth, please. I can't stand this; seeing you upset." Harry mumbled. Frank talk didn't pass between them, he realised now. They spoke forever in riddles; lying to each other, and to themselves. If she wouldn't tell him like this, he had to revert to their usual measures. "You know; Lucas's tattoos. _Dum spiro spero_…_Gnothi seauton_. Beautiful, but…but I sometimes wonder. How can we always hope? How can we always know ourselves?"

"We can't."

"No. We can't." he repeated, "And if we can't, how can we expect it for other people? How can we always know them? _Ye shall know the truth_…"

"_And the truth shall set you free_."

"It's lies; all lies. And the CIA aren't the only ones. Our entire world is concocted from lies. You, me. Everyone. How can you know the truth?"

Ruth's hand crept further into Harry's, and he entwined his fingers with hers, squeezing gently. He was there for her. And she knew it. The feeling was mutual.

"Plus ça change." she murmured. Sometimes, when your time stopped still, the rest of the world kept on turning. But now, she wasn't alone; she wasn't lost. Harry was here with her. And his hand around hers gave her the courage she needed, now more than ever. As long as he was there, everything would be okay.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely audible as she gazed into his ceaseless eyes, but deeply pained, "I've got cancer, Harry. I've got cancer."

XxXxX

**This was going to be a one-shot, but I might do a second part if anyone thinks I should...**** How will Harry react to Ruth's revelation? Will he be there for her when she needs him most?**

**Again, I don't own Harry + ****Ruth, or Spooks ;)**

**Thanks for reading – please review xx**


	2. Chapter 2

***Spoiler* ****- if you want a happy ending, don't read on...**

"Harry?" Ruth murmured weakly, raising herself onto one elbow and glancing around the room.

"I'm here, Ruth," he took a step forward from the doorway, allowing the door to slip shut behind him as he made his way to her bedside and sank down by her, "I'm here."

She lay back down, her skin having grown pale at the effort of moving. She was slimmer now than she had been in a long time, but not in a good way – her cheekbones were gaunt, and her fingers bony. The colour in her eyes was dull and cold. But still her lips twitched in a weak attempt at a smile as she reached out for Harry's hand.

"How are you feeling?" he questioned in a light tone, sandwiching her hand between both of his and stroking it tenderly.

"Not bad," she'd replied in the same manner as she had every day for weeks now. She wasn't one for exaggeration, wasn't Ruth. She preferred to shuffle away into the background; all this fussing made her feel uncomfortable.

"You look tired?"

"Just a little."

They'd both known the prognosis long before any doctor had got around to telling them. Deep down, they'd known. But the despair lost guessing at something was nothing compared to now.

Harry was so used to controlling, and demanding... nobody stopped until he'd got the result he wanted, and he'd stop at almost nothing to get it. But now? What could he do now? He saw her strength slipping away each time he visited, saw the anguish grow in her expression. And he was powerless to do anything about it.

"Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine, Harry. Thank you, but I'm fine. They're not so bad here as you might imagine," she attempted another weak smile, but it fell to a grimace. What was there to smile about now? "I even had a croissant this morning."

He just held her hand tighter. Each time one of his officers died, he felt a section of his heart splinter away. Not only were they brilliant spies who were consequently to be replaced with inexperienced graduates, but they were his friends too. For Harry, that seemed rather an odd prospect, but he'd loved every single one of them. And Ruth...Ruth was on a different scale altogether. He'd have no soul left at this rate. "I had a boiled egg."

"With soldiers?"

"With soldiers."

Ruth nodded, content at that. She took comfort from everyday things now; a merely trivial comment to keep her going through the hours of loneliness and dejection. "So, how's work?"

"Not bad," Harry reverted to using her approach, only his tone wasn't quite as convincing. He could've said 'brilliant' or 'terrible' for all the difference it made; Ruth could read him like a book anyway, and his voice and expression told her it hadn't been the greatest of days.

"Are Dimitri and Tariq coping okay? How's Erin?"

"They're all good. Dimitri seems to have calmed down over Beth; he's busy conferring with Six about a secondment for a pretty young girl over there. Tariq was out in the field yesterday, chasing through the woods and covering himself in mud – suffice to say he loved it. And Erin...well, Erin's Erin, I suppose. I think they're coming to visit you tomorrow, as long as nothing crops up."

"And are you okay?" Ruth's eyes grew serious, boring into his, "I mean really?"

"Yes; Fidget and Scarlet are getting along famously, and..."

"No, Harry. Not the pets - I trust you to take care of them._ You_."

Harry gave a deep sigh, registering just how determined she was to discover the truth, "I'm fine, Ruth. Missing you. Wishing we had more time together. But fine."

"Maybe it wasn't meant to be like that."

Harry nodded slowly. Why did you never realise how much you needed someone until they were gone? Why couldn't the words be found to express your love until it was too late? "You do know..."

"Yes, Harry. I know." she never let him say the words he so desperately wanted her to hear. Three words could mean so much. But she didn't want him to say it – it pained her too much. It brought her back to the regrets of those evening rooftop conversations. To the graveyard that crisp morning. _A turn around the grounds_, he'd said. What she wouldn't do to have that conversation again...

"That's all that matters, then. As long as you know, I can rest easy."

They both knew he wouldn't. He'd lie awake late into the night, staring up at the darkened ceiling, running the events of the day through his head, and trying to make sense of it all. But he could never keep Ruth from his thoughts for long. Her soft voice, her warm eyes, her subtle intelligence...

Ruth felt a single tear trickle down from her eye. However much she tried to stay optimistic, the realisation that she was dying was a difficult one to absorb. Never again would she set foot in the building she'd grown to love; Thames House. Never again would she chatter with her colleagues, or wander into Harry's office, or discover a lead worthy of pride.

But hadn't she done enough of that already? Her entire life had been given up to her job. She'd loved it, even the hard parts. But hadn't it been enough? There was a time for everything. And now was not for working.

"It's okay, Ruth," Harry reached up and smudged the tear across her cheek, saving her the bother of raising a hand. Indeed, she didn't think she had the strength to move at all any more.

Her eyes flickered for a moment before settling shut; her hand fell down from Harry's grasp and settled on her stomach. Wasn't this the time to go? "Harry..."

His eyes grew wide as he realised exactly what she was suggesting. She couldn't give up yet, she just couldn't. She still had life in her, still had so much she hadn't done, hadn't said... It wasn't fair for her to leave yet.

But it was her decision. Power lay far from him; he could reach out for it all he wanted, but he was useless in altering any of this now. And, if she felt ready, shouldn't he support her? He could miss her afterwards; he could curl up in bed with her photograph, or speak his feelings at the inevitable MI5 memorial service. But now? Now he had to follow her lead. He had to back her. And for that, he had to let her go.

"It's okay, Ruth. I'm here." he couldn't find any more words to speak. What was there left to be said? Except...

She twitched in response to his movement, too weak to reopen her eyes, but still aware. "Harry, please."

He cupped his hand around her cheek, savouring the warmth of her skin against his. Gulping back tears, he stroked a strand of her wavy hair back from her eyes, smoothing it down across her forehead. Then he spoke, those three words hurting more now than anything he had ever said. "I love you, Ruth. I love you."

"I love you too." for a moment, a shadow of a smile crossed her lips. It was all over. Nothing was ever perfect; she had many regrets, but now she could die fulfilled. Harry loved her, she loved him. And they both knew it. That bond was stronger than death.

She relaxed against Harry's touch, her chest ceasing to rise and fall as she finally fell away from the pain and sorrow, and into a world of peaceful oblivion. And, for the first time in so, so long, Harry fell down by her bedside and wept.

XxXxX

**I **_**still **_**don't own Spooks - probably a good job given what I've just written! ;)**

**Wondering now if I might do an epilogue – the funeral, and Harry by her grave afterwards...thoughts?**

**Thanks for reading – please review xx**


	3. Epilogue

**Two ****months later...**

Harry approached the grave apprehensively. Not just because he was nervous, but because he was focussing on his steps; careful not to stand on any land where bodies were buried. They were dead, yes, but memories of them would live on. Even when it seemed that no one cared, there were always traces of these people left behind. No one could ever be erased completely from the world.

He crouched by the glistening marble, running his weathered fingers over the engraving:

_Ruth Evershed  
><em>_29th April 1970 – 17th December 2011  
><em>_May you forever rest in peace_

Such an unoriginal line, he knew, but they'd been at a loss as to what to add. What words could describe her? She'd been forty one when she'd died. _Forty one_. Still with so much life in her, so much potential for happiness. But, as she herself had reassured him, maybe it wasn't meant to be like that.

The excruciating grief had faded now. He longed to see her again every single day; to hold her in his arms and promise her that everything would be okay. But he no longer sobbed himself to sleep at midnight, having downed half a bottle of whisky. She wouldn't have wanted that, would she? He could see her now, a dogged frown spread across her lips as she lectured him on his health. A small smile crept across his own expression at the thought.

This was his first visit to her resting place; the first time he'd found himself able to consider approaching her grave. In the early spring sun, a cluster of bright daffodils grew up nearby, adding colour to the doom of the environment. Graveyards weren't as bad as they were made out to be. They could be beautiful, really, and they held so much of his past, concealed away amidst those trees – good and bad. His and Jane's wedding, so many years ago, when he'd been young, and fresh, and free. The christenings of his children – such proud days. Deaths of loved ones; family, friends, colleagues. And that conversation with Ruth, standing by the fence, with the wind gusting softly against his cheeks as he leant towards her and whispered in her ear...

He wondered now if he should speak to her. Presents littered the grass beneath the stone; fading flowers, well-worn classics, a stuffed bear. Ruth, in her unassuming manner, had been adored. He didn't really know what he could add to the tributes, either. But did he really need to? Hadn't she understood already? Neither of them had been any good at that side of things – the expression of emotion. That didn't mean it hadn't been there.

He felt tears moisten his eyes, and his throat tighten as he gulped back a sob. He raised his head to gaze up at the clouds. She was somewhere up there. He'd never believed in a God, but he knew now she was looking down, probably smiling wistfully into her mug of tea as the words of Oscar Wilde or Shakespeare ran through her head. Typical Ruth.

His knees twinged, and he stood up. Time waited for no man; he had paperwork to attend to, team members to lecture, civilians to save... Life wasn't easy, and it never would be; MI5 wasn't all it was made out to be. But he wouldn't have had his life without it, and he wouldn't have met Ruth if he'd lazed around in an office all day, either. The opportunity of that was worth any other sacrifices.

He wouldn't say goodbye. He'd be back. And maybe, one day, they'd meet again, in a better world. So instead, as he reached out and stroked her grave once more, he whispered only three words – never had a sentence fitted more, despite how inadequate it sounded.

"Pactum serva, Ruth."

And then, whistling Lillibullero serenely to himself, he wiped his eyes, straightened his tie, turned and strolled away into the distance.

XxXxX

**A kind of happy-ish ending?**** Sorry it wasn't updated before, but I hope you've enjoyed it. Please review and tell me what you thought – I'd also welcome suggestions for another story. Thanks :) xxx**


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